A Link To The Past: Untold Stories
by Tom from Down Under
Summary: Link is not the only person with a story to tell. Discover the trials and tribulations of Link's friends and enemies from all across the land of Hyrule.
1. The Storm

_I'm not dead! It has been so long since I have published anything on fanfic, but the chapters for this story are coming along nicely and shouldn't be too far apart. All reviews are welcomed._

**A Link To The Past: The Untold Stories**

**The Storm**

The clouds had been gathering for the best part of the day. Like a flock of crows, they spread across the lands of Hyrule and plunged it into darkness many hours before nightfall. After a single flash of lightning the rain began to fall, lightly at first but gradually gaining in strength and volume. Farmers cursed their thatched roofs as wives slid buckets beneath the most substantial drips. Hyrule Castle, usually gleaming of the finest white stone and emerald-dusted tiles, quickly turned grey and dull of dampness.

As he stood by the outer wall of the castle, the grass beneath his feet slowly turning to mud, Jayef, one of the Royal Guards, dutifully scanned the area in front of him. _This is pointless_, he thought. He could barely see three feet in front of him, let alone spot any intruders sneaking up on the castle. Plus the sound of the heavy rain bouncing of his green tinted armour was turning him deaf as it echoed inside his heavy helmet.

Jayef turned to his companion, Torse, and half spoke half shouted:

"They say this weather is caused by evil spirits, from beyond the mountain." Torse snorted in disbelief.

"Wives superstition, my friend, nothing more," the guard replied.

"Well, spirits or not, I'm freezing in this cursed armour," Jayef said with a shiver.

"I wish I was up top, in the tower. Just as cold but at least they have a roof over their heads." Jayef nodded in agreement and the two guards fell silent, the only other audible sound was the rain pelting their helmets.

There was a clap of thunder, and suddenly Torse began to cough and wheeze. His fit was so violent that Jayef dropped his spear and tried to help his friend who was now bent double with dry retching.

"Torse! What's wrong?" Jayef cried in confusion. He didn't know what to do. The rain was so heavy that no one else could hear them, he couldn't call for help. He tried to guide his friend towards the guard's entrance, but Torse fell and began to spasm violently. Jayef's fear grew.

"Help! Someone, help!" he screamed, fully aware of the futility of his callings. But as suddenly as the coughing had started, it stopped. Torse rose to his feet, using the castle wall to steady himself.

"I am fine," he insisted, brushing away Jayef's concern like an insect.

"Are you sure? You sound incredibly sick."

"I am fine," Torse repeated, dismissively. He paused before asking, rather anxiously, "Did you not feel it?"

Jayef was confused. "Felt what?" The wind? The rain? Maybe Torse _was_ ill.

"Nothing. Never mind." Both guards returned to their duties in silence. Torse scanned the wall while Jayef stared out into the thick, heavy rain. It was only a few minutes later when Torse called out.

"Oh, Jayef."

"Yes?" he replied as he turned to face his friend. The last thing Jayef ever saw was Torse's spear speeding towards his eyes. He managed a small yelp before the spearhead pierced his brain and killed him. Torse held his spear firmly and twisted it violently, before removing it from Jayef's head with a sickening glop.

"Never mind," he muttered darkly, and headed toward the castle gates.


	2. Betrayal

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**A Link To The Past: Untold Stories**

**Betrayal**

The King sat in his throne and longed for his Queen's soothing voice and touch. But she had passed into the spirit realm nearly two years ago, and could no longer offer him her wisdom or encouragement. Now all that could be heard was the pelting rain and the occasional clap of thunder from the storm outside. He dismissed the royal messenger and pondered the frightful news. Another girl had been kidnapped. The sixth, if he recalled correctly, to be silently taken from her home. The villagers, his subjects, were demanding results. Who had taken the girls, and for what purpose? He had explained to sobbing families that he was doing all he could to ensure their safe return, but nobody had the vaguest hint as to where they had been taken. He had sent troops to every corner of Hyrule; the Lost Woods, the Eastern Ruins, the desert, Death Mountain. No trace had been found.

A deep sigh escaped the King. He did not know what to do.

"Bring me wine," he called wearily to a steward. As the steward rushed from the throne room, another man strode in, past the guards, and knelt before his majesty. The man had a youthful appearance but had thick, mousy grey hair. He wore a long, thick trench coat of fine brown leather and matching gloves. He was the King's trusted adviser and good friend.

"Stand, my friend," said the King, waving his hand. "Surely such etiquette is not required between friends, and during such perilous times."

"Of course, your Highness." The man stood. His face was troubled.

"What news do you bring?"

"My word is grave. I have discovered a connection between the missing girls. I have gone through the royal records in your personal library and have discovered that all six missing girls are direct descendants of the Seven Wise Men."

The King's eyes widened at this revelation. That meant there was still one more descendant remaining.

"Zelda…" The King almost leapt from his golden chair as the realisation that his only daughter was in grave danger hit him.

"My Lord, your daughter is safe! I have placed her in the care of very capable soldiers. As soon as I discovered the Princess's life was at risk I took action. She is safe, in the dungeon."

Slowly, the King sat and became calm. The adviser continued.

"I believe that whoever has kidnapped the girls is attempting to break the seal to the Golden Land."

"Impossible!" cried the King, bringing his fist down hard onto the arm of his golden throne. "The Seven Wise Men cast a powerful spell over the seal! It cannot be broken!"

"With respect, your Highness, I believe an accomplished sorcerer could break the seal, if he has the blood of the original casters; the seven girls. Protection spells can weaken over time, and it has been nearly four hundred years since the Wise Men placed the spell over the gate to the Golden Land."

The King sat in a troubled silence and rested his chin on his palm.

"What do I do?"

"There is nothing you can do. Not until it is discovered who is responsible for the kidnappings."

"What about my daughter!" the King demanded. He had already lost his wife to sickness; he would not lose his only child to a madman.

"As long as your army stands loyally behind you, then Zelda is safe." The adviser bowed his head, partly out of respect, but also so the King could not see his slight smile.

"Thank you my friend. Thank you, Agahnim."

Agahnim raised his head, still smiling.

"It is a shame, then, that they are no longer loyal," the adviser said, his smile transforming into a wicked grin.

"What did you say?" The King frowned. What was Agahnim talking about? Who was not loyal?

"Your soldiers are not under your royal command. They belong to me now."

The King gasped as he understood. His trusted adviser and friend, Agahnim, was responsible for the kidnappings, these months of silent fear.

"You are a traitor!" cried the King in disbelief, wishing for it be a terrible mistake.

"It would appear so," Agahnim replied calmly.

"You leave me no choice. Guards! Seize him!" The King called to the four silver armoured soldiers by the door. The bodyguards, who had become increasingly nervous as Agahnim's sinister conversation had come to an end, already had their swords drawn.

Agahnim smiled, and muttered words that no other living being could understand. There was a huge roar of thunder accompanied by a bolt of lightning brighter than the sun itself. One of the guards began to cough violently, the others looked vaguely confused, but the coughing gradually died and the soldier regained his composure. The silver guards advanced on Agahnim with swords pointed threateningly.

Agahnim looked mildly annoyed as he was backed against the far wall. The spell had failed.

"Your personal bodyguards have strong minds, your Highness," the traitor called out eyeing the four swords. "I commend you on your choice of soldiers. It is a shame I am forced to kill such admirable men."

He drew his hands against his chest and muttered an incantation. An eruption of yellow energy threw the guards against the far wall as Agahnim thrust his palms forward. One of the men landed on his head with a sickening crack. He did not get up. The others were alive if dazed. The sorcerer used the time to speak an old and evil spell. Black smoke swirled down from his arms and formed the shape of two wicked and dark tinted blades in his heavy gloves.

Imbued with incredible magical speed Agahnim rushed forward towards the nearest guard who was still dazed by the spell. Screaming a fearful war-cry, the sorcerer ran the silver armoured man through the chest with his right blade then spun around the gasping body and slashed with his left blade, cleaving the guard's spine in two.

The two remaining guards, fearfully aware of their fallen brethren, quickly and cautiously approached Agahnim from either side in a pincer movement and began to circle him. Agahnim moved his swords around his body in a deliberate fashion, inviting the men to best him. Fuelled by fear and anger at their brothers' deaths, the guards leapt forward in attack.

The evil wizard easily parried the blows of both men. He began to laugh as the blades sought out his flesh but found nothing but black steel. Bringing his boot unexpectedly into the chest of one man and knocking him back, the traitor leapt to one side and nimbly rolled around the other. But before the guard could turn, Aganhim stood and thrust his swords into the man's back with such force he was lifted off the ground. The dying guard screamed as blood exploded from his chest, his armour as effective as canvas against the magical blades.

The last remaining guard screamed as he watched his fellow soldier fall lifeless to the ground with blood streaming from his mouth. The final silver soldier ran towards his enemy in a state of blind vengeance. Aganhim smiled, drew his hand back and threw. The black sword split the guard's head open. His hand still raised, the wizard threw a small purple missile at the dead man. The top half exploded in a sticky bloom of blood and bone. Aganhim turned to the king.

"Such a noble man you are, who sits idly by to watch as his own men are slaughtered," he taunted and strode towards the throne.

"You animal! I will make you pay for all your evil deeds, if it the last thing I do!" screamed the king in rage. He rose and drew his sword in fury, ready to attack. But instead his hand and sword slammed against back of his throne, an invisible force pushing him back. Magic flowed from the gloved hand of Aganhim and drove the King's body into the golden chair.

"No," the traitor refuted. "Nothing can stop me. Nothing can stop the complete ascension of my master."

"Master? There is one who commands you?" he gasped against the spell. The King was horrified at the revelation. That there could be one more powerful, more evil than this sorcerer was nothing short of terrifying. But Aganhim simply ignored the question and grinned.

"And the last thing you will do, your highness, is die."

The King screamed in agony as the black blade was thrust into his gut. The magical metal reached into every nerve of his being drawing the senses and life from the flesh, the royal blood fuelling the power of the blade's wielder.

Aganhim laughed as darkness fell across the King's face, and darkness fell across the land as the storm's reach spread from the castle to the farthest corners of the kingdom. Light vanished from the King's eyes, and his body was tossed to the floor as the sorcerer took up his place on the throne.

The steward returned and, unseeing of the bloodied corpse, handed a silver goblet to Aganhim.

Aganhim took the cup and drank deeply of the rich wine, then smiled.

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	3. Departure of the Elder

**A Link to the Past: Untold Stories**

**Departure of the Elder**

The sun shone brightly through trees, casting shadow on the armour of Commander Skutte. The shadows deepened the already dark red hue of the strong metal. The breeze that gently shook the trees succeeded in cooling the bodies that inhabited the suits of armour, however little.

Skutte was as good as dead. His mind, free will and conscience were lost forever in a hypnotic cloud of black magic. His knowledge and experience remained, as did what passed for a personality.

"This is the house?" the Commander asked, the question directed to the two Green Guards that stood attentively behind him.

"Yes, sir. This is the house of the village elder," one answered. The three soldiers stood before the stone house, but no one paid them any attention. Or so it appeared that way. The villagers had noticed the increasing aggression of the castle soldiers and had learnt not to interfere with any of the guards' business. Rumours of evil spirits descending from the mountains causing sickness, not to mention the disappearance of several girls, had succeeded in quelling the curiosity of almost all but the most inquisitive residents of Kakariko village.

The red-clad guard hammered on the wood door. It opened to reveal a small boy.

"What do you want?" the boy asked. He clung to door handle, as if it provided some small comfort in the presence of the imposing visitors.

"The King requests the presence of Sahasrahla," the soldier ordered.

"He's not here." The answer was simple yet unexpected. Skutte turned and glared at his subordinates. The two Green Guards back away slightly. They knew there would be punishment if incorrect information caused the embarrassment of their commander.

"This is the house of the elder, Sahasrahla?" Skutte asked of the boy.

"Yes."

"The King orders that Sahasrahla attends to him immediately," ordered the soldier impatiently. Commander Skutte had better things to do. Consignments of soldiers were being ordered all over the kingdom, the guard at the entrance of Death Mountain had to be doubled and inspected. There was also a crate of confiscated pipe-weed that needed attending to. Therefore the boy's response was not satisfactory to the commander's growing temper.

"I'll tell him when he returns."

Skutte took a deep breath before replying:

"Where is he now?"

The boy paused. His body was still half hidden by the door, and he was grateful for its protection. While his fear was obvious to the guards, he did not want them to see his legs trembling. He did not know why the King wanted the elder, or even if it was truly the King's orders. Rumours that His Royal Highness was no longer in control of the throne had crept and crawled through the village like vile rats.

His eyes flicked briefly from the red metal visage to the sword that swung threateningly from the guard's webbing.

"The lost woods," said the boy.

After a few uncomfortable seconds, the three soldiers turned and walked silently away. The small boy quickly closed the door and leant against it, breathing heavily. He had felt the evil presence surrounding the soldiers. To him, this verified the otherwise wild rumours about the wicked doings in the castle.

"His evil is spreading," said a voice. The boy saw his master, Sahasrala, emerge from the back room where he had been hiding, wisely as it turned out. The plain hessian robes Sahasrahla wore dragged along the floor as he walked slowly toward his servant, his snow white beard tucked neatly into his belt. There was fear and sadness in the old man's small and crinkled eyes.

"I am not safe here," Sahasrahla murmured. "Pack my things and get my cloak, I head to the Eastern Palace. When they return for me, do not tell them of my whereabouts." The Elder returned to the back room briefly and came back holding a round, metal box. Imprinted on its lid was a small picture of a winged man.

Sahasrahla shook his bald head and sighed. He had feared this day ever since he had foreseen the inevitable turmoil the kingdom of Hyrule would suffer. For years he had hoped and prayed that his vision was wrong, or selfishly that he would not be alive to see it come true. But there was no escape from the preordained. He must deal with the present as it came, however hard or horrifying.

He looked to the boy servant, and tried to keep his voice steady.

"I believe the king is dead," said the elder, gravely. "The only man I trust now is the Chaplain of the Sanctuary."

At the mention of the King's death, the boy gasped and tears welled in his eyes. The late King had been one of the greatest monarchs of Hyrule. It was only after the Queens death that he had lapsed into idleness. Sahasrahla saw the boy's tears and knelt to comfort him.

"Be strong, child. A hero will appear. The laws of legend demand it. He is the only one who can know of my location. He will come to you, and when he does you must help him."

The boy wiped a sleeve across his face and nodded. Sahasrahla squeezed the child's shoulder in confidence and smiled.

"Everything will be alright. I promise you that."

"And I promise I will be strong. And I will help the Hero," the boy replied. Sahasrahla nodded then stood. The old man collected his things, including the round metal box, and, wrapping his travelling cloak tightly around his shoulders, left the house without another word.

_All reviews are welcomed and encouraged. If there are disputes about the spelling of names and places don't hesitate to contact me. I also welcome any of your ideas. But be aware that I can't publish everything, but I can do my best. Let me know what you think so far, review._

_Till next time._


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